


Sweet Dreams

by emotional_ejaculation



Category: mine - Fandom
Genre: Dreams, Other, prompts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-10
Updated: 2017-03-10
Packaged: 2018-10-02 07:04:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10212167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emotional_ejaculation/pseuds/emotional_ejaculation
Summary: It's just some stuff.





	1. Chapter 1

He pushes through the door and lets out a breath shakier than the picture frames in his home’s hallway. He reaches into his back pocket, bringing forth a crushed pack of cigarettes.  
He taps on the bottom of the near-empty pack, retrieving a cigarette and letting it dangle from his lips as he pats at his pants. The biting cold chills his fingers into clumsy numbness, and his teeth are chattering; a chorus of enamel grinding against enamel.

“Fuck…” He pulls his bag off his shoulder and scoffs as he searches for a lighter. His sight was caught by a girl sitting beside the podium, her face in her hands. It is normal for (enter school name)-chicks crying. What really catches his attention is what she is wearing. Socks-probably a drama student, or a dancer-a thin sweater, and paper-thin tights (he could see the spun cotton of her skin sneaking through.) That wouldn’t have been weird in a normal weather situation-but it was the beginning of February, and she was practically naked. Vulnerable. Her knees are pulled so close to her chest he fears that her body could fold itself, like a lawn chair. Her body is shaking. 

He contemplates asking if she is alright. He doesn’t really know how to talk to girls. In a situation like that, he should’ve looked at her like she was a normal human, experiencing some normal emotion, instead of a girl he was nervous around. The not-too distant traffic sang, and the wind cuts through his coat and tortuously slashes his marrow with constant harsh blows. 

“Need a lighter?” Her voice surprises him. He looks back-she’s beautiful, and not in a quiet way. Her irises were a shocking, pure blue against the red web of the rest of her eyes. She is looking up at him calmly-as if she isn’t in the freezing cold; as if she wasn’t balling her eyes out seconds ago. 

“Well?” 

“Uh, y-yes sure.” 

She brings her lighter from her pocket and hands it to him-she notices a few things. She notices how he hadn’t been flinching before she started talking to him. He hadn’t been jolting before she asked her question-she founds it cute. She feels more comfortable talking to him now-somehow he seems warmer. She notices his hands next-wide, short clipped nails with paint-stained cuticles.

“You seem troubled.”

“That’s a primary aspect of my personality.” She sniffles into her sleeve and rubs her face until it feels more raw-the tip of his nose is a beet red, and the tip of hers is numb. The wind cuts through his skin and torturously slashes his marrow with constant harsh blows. She watches him light up his cancer stick-the smoker, whose cigarette shrinks with every passing second, looking only mildly familiar. His hair is a mess and dark, his brow thick over brown eyes and heavy black lashes. His mouth is thin-a scruff beard coating his jaw. 

He is in his own little world-somewhere, as he sucks the smoke into him and softly lets it out. She takes the time to recognize him. He is becoming more and more familiar as the seconds pass-she steers clear of this boy in the halls-and his long, dark hair, messy in a way that looks like he’d always just rolled out of bed. She hates the scruff of his jawline, indicating he does know how to shave, just not in a consistent manner. She hates his brown eyes, icier than hers, catching the light whenever he talked to people. Caught in a constant state of laughter. 

He stands between her and the road, holding the cigarette in his right hand and blowing smoke away from her. She hates it, but on the scale of all things she hates in that moment, it doesn’t rank too highly. 

He thought it should be a crime to have blue eyes and black hair-the contrast between the blues and the blacks is too distracting. And if you have pale skin? Consider it done. That is this girl. Breath pale against the numbing air, she blinks thoughtfully as the frost patiently kisses her face, captivated by the soft, dusty illusions of light that sit heavy on her eyelashes. She adores the snow, more so when it is falling. 

Her eyelids sweep up. Lashes rest against the skin that overlapped. Snowflakes cling onto each individual eyelash-she’s really, really beautiful. 

“They say that it’s easier to talk to strangers.” 

“We’re not strangers-we go to the same school. For all I know by tomorrow my business could be painted on lockers-I don’t know who you are.” 

“You didn’t strike me as the type to care.”

“You caught that from listening to my sobbing?”


	2. Figures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A girl meets a girl who likes to skate. (not even close to being finished)

The door slamming shook the floor beneath the soles of their shoes.

“I’m not late!” She yelled at her coworker as she arrived ten minutes after her shift normally started.

She stripped out off her cardigan and caught one of the black cafe aprons that was thrown at her, which reached mid thigh as she tied it around her waist. She slipped her notepad into the apron pocket and started to gather her short hair into an embarrassment of a bun, holding the pen between her teeth.

“Not late…“ She stated again, but more to herself, and mostly muffled by the pen. Her coworker, Niall, murmured an ironic “sure” and shook his head, letting out a short laugh. 

The cafe wasn’t very busy on a Monday morning. An elderly couple with chilling cups of black coffee were seated by the window, a small threesome of younger people chatted around another table and a young woman was typing away at her shiny Macbook. Mavis didn’t understand why people were holed up in the tiny cafe when the weather hadn’t been so nice in months. Niall was cleaning the counter and singing along to the chill, soft acoustic song that resonated throughout the cozy room. 

Niall’s gaze was still focused on the counter as he mumbled absentmindedly to Lucy, “There’s a new girl - she has her first shift today, and Eric told me to tell you.” 

“Really?” She lifted her brows in surprise-Eric hadn’t hired anyone in ages.

“Yeah. She’s a mess, though. I don’t think she’s worked many jobs, if you know what I mean.”

“What time is her shift?” Niall looked up to the clock hesitantly, trying to multitask by still rubbing the counter down. 

“In five minutes.” 

 

...

Ruth came in, windblown and tired, with ready black-rimmed forest eyes and pink lips hanging over shiny white teeth. 

Niall noticed first. He smiled shyly, and Ruth sent him a flashy grin that sent his cheeks aflame. 

“You’re twenty minutes late.” Niall was readable-as readable and analyzable as a children’s picture book. So his shaky, scolding tone was quickly dismissed by Ruth. 

“I know-isn’t it sad? How much faster the hands on a clock revolve when you are not looking?” Niall watched the words pour from her mouth like molten gold.

“Uh-yeah.” She turned and grabbed an apron. 

 

...

Mavis sighed down her food. Her cheeks were stuffed with a blueberry muffin when Ruth walked in, sweeping her hair over a bony shoulder. 

“Hey.” Mavis decides first impressions are important, so she swallows (dryly) down her mouthful and flashes a forced smile, nodding past her muffin.


	3. A Thing?

She was pretty in a gentle way. Sam figured she had a tough life. 

The autumn leaves cracked underneath his worn out tennis shoes. The tops of the trees were on fire, and Sam crossed the massive willow tree in the middle of the park. 

It was abnormally early in the morning for a walk through the trees-not for Sam, though. His teeth were chattering; a chorus of enamel grinding against enamel. He bit into his apple-his breakfast-hard enough to crush a diamond. The rising sun snuck through the gaps in the leaves and covered his face in a mustard yellow-orange glow. There wasn’t a thing like a walk in a park before everyone was awake. More than a bite of frost in the air-before life started. Before it was time to go to work, or break out of dream-like states. People were wrapped warm in their beds still, the scent of fresh linen and detergent hopefully filling their nostrils. Soft breathing. Healthy blushes on cheeks. Knuckles not commonly white-heart’s not so constricted. If only Sam wasn’t an insomniac. 

There is only one duck on the surface of the pond. Dipping his head in the water and shaking it. The drops fly outward, landing in the water to make tiny waves that move outward in ever growing circles.


End file.
